Clearly Edible
by Basmathgirl
Summary: StarrGazzer AU prompt request: "You've walked past the bakery I work at and stared longingly at one of the pies at least 4 times today I'll buy it for you if you just stop" This one is set just after Journey's End.


**Prompt:** AU **:** "You've walked past the bakery I work at and stared longingly at one of the pies at least 4 times today I'll buy it for you if you just stop" This one is set just after Journey's End but before Broadchurch actually started.  
 **Disclaimer:** does anyone actually read these? Because I am claiming they are mine...

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 **Clearly Edible**

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Another day, another dollar; so they say.

Donna gazed out of the window and down onto the street below. It was such a different work environment to what she was used to. Normally there were lots of phones ringing, ardent typing, and the sound of chair wheels rolling along a carpeted floor. There wasn't usually the enticing smell of bread baking, hot meat pies, and fruity cakes to waft in your direction.

This latest temp job might be the death of her. She'd already given in and bought a box of doughnuts to take home to her mum and Gramps. For her lunch she had bought a freshly made chicken tikka roll followed by a Belgian bun. Life, and her waistline, will never be the same.

Her own yearnings she could deal with; but with somebody else's, not. That's partially why she had noticed him as he walked by the shop window and gazed longingly in. When he had appeared for the third time, she was determined to intercept his jaunt and find out what exactly he was looking at.

"Who is that? Anyone you know?" she had asked the nearest shop employee.

"Who?" the woman had queried and then peered out of the window at his retreating back. "That looks like that police fella." She had then turned to shout at another woman who was stacking large plastic trays that would hold the cakes on sale in the morning. "Tracey, who's that policeman that keeps looking in through the window?"

"You mean the tall skinny one, Kay?" the woman now defined as being 'Tracey' wondered.

"Yeah. Got a face full of reluctant beard," Kay replied. "Needs a bit of loving care by the looks of him."

"Oh that's Hardy," Tracey confidently supplied. "He's a detective inspector or other. Been on the telly and everything, when that murder case was on."

"Oh yeah," Kay commented in remembrance, and then turned back to Donna. "Why you asking?"

"He just looks so sad," Donna answered honestly. "As though he's seeing something he ought to remember."

"Like where he put the vital evidence, you mean," Kay scoffed. "What a div doing that. He deserves to look miserable, if you ask me. Says he was doing his duty. Hah! Fat lot of good he is. Ought to have been shot."

But Donna didn't agree with her. She thought she recognised that empty longing in his stance when he walked away. So when he appeared at the end of the street, she was up out of her seat like a shot to catch more than a glimpse of him. This was now a mission.

Racing down the stairs and into the main shop, she was just in time to see him stop outside the wide expanse of glass and peer in. With baited breath she waited for his gaze to alight on something. In milliseconds it did. For a brief period of time his gaze stayed on a particularly scrummy looking pie in the window.

If she was nearer she would have sworn that she saw him surreptitiously lick his lips and swallow like a starved man. The fact that he looked half starved rather added to the effect, to be honest. Give him a cap and he would have looked like a grown up Bisto kid.

Then, with a tiny sorrowful shake of his head, he continued his journey back down the street.

"Where's he going?" Donna asked Tracey, who happened to have come out from the back of the shop at that moment.

Tracey stared at her as though she were mental. "Back to the cop shop. The police station is just around the corner, up passed the Italian restaurant."

"I'm new around here," Donna excused herself. "Does he do this every day?"

"More or less," Tracey answered with a dismissive shrug. "Why?"

"Just wondering." Donna considered the situation and made a snap decision. "That pie he was ogling, is it worth buying?"

"Yes. They're really nice," the young girl behind the counter offered. "Do you want one?"

"Oh go on then," Donna conceded. "I'll buy one from you to try."

It didn't take long to acquire one of the most delicious pies she had ever seen. It smelt as good as it looked. And she held the bag containing it as though it was a precious jewel.

"Anything else?" the girl wondered before she rang up the value on the till.

"Nah," Donna replied, handing over the correct money. "But I'm just going to go and have a little walk. Need to pick something up from the chemist. Won't be long."

Having not waited for an answer, she was out the door and striding down the pavement towards the police station in next to no time.

It didn't take long to find him. A lanky bloke in an ill-fitting suit was easy to spot from a mile off, and that was before you took the scruffy hair into consideration. Must be undercover, she decided as she approached him.

"Excuse me!" she called out to him, causing his head to turn in her direction; a scowl of confusion on his face. "You forgot this!"

He eyed the upheld paper bag with suspicion. It didn't pay to accept anything from the general public. Especially lately with all the bad publicity he had been receiving from the media.

"You are kidding me," he drawled under his breath. "Ma'am, I haven't forgotten anything. You must have me muddled up with someone else."

If the scowl wouldn't work on her she certainly wasn't going to be put off by his sarcasm. "Not if you're DI Hardy I've not," she insisted, holding out the bag towards him. "This is yours."

Reluctantly, he took the bag from her grasp, and then peered inside. The scowl remained on his face. "It's a pie," he stated. "Why would I want a pie?"

"You tell me," she retorted. "You've been drooling all over it in the window all day, so I thought I'd get it for you."

"Is this a joke?!" he raged.

"You ungrateful sod!" she fumed back at him. "I thought I was doing you a favour, seeing as you have been doing your best impression of a starving man without a penny to his name, where that pie is concerned. But that's fine. I can take it back and have it for my dinner tonight. No insult was intended."

He dutifully handed the bag back into her expectant outstretched hand; a contrite expression momentarily on his face. "I can't eat it," he mumbled.

Unable to hear him properly, she stepped closer. "What's that you said?"

"I said," he repeated a little louder, but not much, "I cannot eat the pie. But thank you for the thought."

"Is this a policeman thing, a religious thing, or a freaky health nut thing?" she wondered in an equally low voice, feeling that a secret was about to be revealed.

"Well," he began, trying to find the right words. "Being a police officer does make it impossible to accept gifts, no matter how well-intentioned they are." This couldn't be happening. Since when did he chat with the general public and actually feel inclined to reveal such a deeply held secret? Something in her sympathetic expression told him his secret was very safe; and it felt good to finally be able to say it to someone. "And my health does not allow me to touch anything as dangerous as that."

"Heart problem," she suggested knowingly; gaining a nod of confirmation. "I recognised the effect of a heart problem on the body. I'm guessing arrhythmia, judging by the sound."

To his horror, he found himself nodding along to her words. Beside his doctors, she was the only one who knew this about him. And what did she mean by 'sound'? What the bloody hell was she?!

"Don't make yourself ill by getting all angry," she gently warned him, placing a consoling touch on his arm. "And this pie will find a good home, I promise."

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had wanted to touch him in such a way. Somehow her concern calmed him instantly. Despite his better judgement, he found himself smiling at her. "Thank you... sorry, I don't know your name."

With a side nod of her head, she indicated towards a nearby coffee shop. "Why don't you buy me a drink and I can tell you all about myself?"

"Very well," he agreed, "but what about your job?"

"You can always get another temp job, but good friends are a little harder to come by," she stated. "Shall we?"

"Yes," he hurriedly agreed, and followed her into the future.


End file.
